


A Rectangle Curve

by Black_Calliope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Calliope/pseuds/Black_Calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek groans, a deep, filthy sound resonating inside his chest as he presses himself even more against Stiles, one hand gripping his hair, keeping the boy right where he wants, holding him close. <i>Closer</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rectangle Curve

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of [Verity](http://veritasst.tumblr.com/) and [this gif](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m59vrqxHTn1r5hvf9o1_500.gif) that she posted on tumblr. Also, it's not beta'ed so all mistakes are mine.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles exhales against Derek’s neck, words melting on his tongue like fog over water. Thick, powerful lust is burning him from the inside, filling his lungs, pushing out air as Derek’s smell fill his nostril, the sound of his heavy breathing crushing over Stiles’ skin. He is _so hard_ , so ready for everything Derek wants to do to him, anything. “ _Please_ ,” he whines, impatient hands caressing the muscled curve of Derek’s lower back.

Above him Derek groans, a deep, filthy sound resonating inside his chest as he presses himself even more against Stiles, one hand gripping his hair, keeping the boy right where he wants, holding him close. _Closer_.

Constant, steady thrusts of his hips are everything it takes to Derek to lead Stiles on the edge. He can smell the rich, mouth-watering scent of the boy’s precome, can almost taste it on his tongue, hot and thick and so perfect he’d want nothing but lap it from Stiles’ spent cock, nothing but have him again, and again, _and again_.

His mouth skids over Stiles’ neck, long, sharp teeth caressing pale skin as he marks his way from Stiles’ jaw down to his collarbones. It’s almost maddening, the feeling of their clothed erections pressed together and he is so close, so close- “Derek,” Stiles whimpers, broken. One last, long thrust and then he is coming in his pants, digging his nails into Derek’s biceps and arching his back as the orgasm’s wave hits him.

He bares his neck, head abandoned against the red carpet, and Derek sinks his teeth into his skin, marks him as he concentrates all of his senses on Stiles, the way he smells of cum, of sweat and Derek’s spit, the way his breath catches when Derek pushes again against him, blood still rushing in his veins. It’s like a blackout, like a supernova exploding right inside Derek’s groin, he comes and everything slips away to rearrange itself in thousands different ways, Stiles the only thing that keeps him anchored.

So Derek holds on, and lets it happen.


End file.
